


Before The Storm

by heather_in_hell



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Implied Sexual Content, Poetry Excerpts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heather_in_hell/pseuds/heather_in_hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finishes the poem and for a second they’re engulfed in silence. There’s nothing that needs to be said right now. The nearly non-existent flutter of the sheer curtain falling against the window frame when a breeze comes in fills the empty spaces in the soundless room. Everything is hushed and still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've used the word 'smirk' in every one of my fics and I'm sorry for that

His mother only read to him at bedtime a handful of times before her death, like any sane, normal parent would. Veronica’s voice isn’t a theatrical one, but JD feels like he can get lost in it for hours when she reads to him; allows her voice to carry him away somewhere safe. 

“Do you come from Heaven or rise from the abyss, Beauty?” 

Veronica’s voice is quiet, hoarse. They’re laying on her bed, her back against the headboard with her worn out Baudelaire nestled in her lap and JD laying flat on his back, his head at level with her hip and his lanky legs spilling over the foot of the bed. The open window lets in the slightly chilly air but their skin is warm and the breeze is comforting. Two birds chirp faintly in the distance, having their own conversation.

“…Your kisses are a philtre, your mouth an amphora, which make the hero weak and the child courageous.”

JD closes his eyes as she reads on. His hand snakes in between her bent knees and strokes idly along the inner side of her left calf. He’s the most peaceful he’s ever been.

“…You sow at random joy and disaster, and you govern all things but answer for nothing.”

Her eyes shift from the page to his face. He looks almost darkly angelic; his hair mussed and chest rising and falling softly with each breath. She can make out small points of deep concentration and thought and hardship amongst an overall tranquil face; an invisible constellation assembling a picture she doesn’t quite recognize yet. The lightest and subtlest of smiles plays on her lips.

She lets herself stare at him for longer, unashamed because he’s her boyfriend and she’s allowed to look at him all she wants. His fingers on her leg simultaneously tickles and soothes. He opens his eyes after a moment and looks up at her upside down, his neck arching and eyebrow raising.

“Continue?” he asks, and she can’t help but smile wider at his unintentional puppy dog eyes. So she does.

“…And Murder, among your dearest trinkets, dances amorously upon your proud belly.”

She pauses after reading the line. The word ‘murder’ coming out of her mouth sounds wrong after what they’ve done, as if a giant blinking marquee arrow will appear over her head if she says it. She doesn’t want to say that word again, but her body won't let her swallow it down. JD remains unfazed, still trailing his touch along the bone of her calf.

Veronica recovers and picks up again, her voice quiet even to herself. 

“…The panting lover bending over his fair one looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb. Whether you come from heaven or from hell, who cares?”  
The corner of JD’s mouth twitches into a tiny smile. Veronica doesn’t know if he’s aware of doing it.

“…The world less hideous, the minutes less leaden.”

She finishes the poem and for a second they’re engulfed in silence. There’s nothing that needs to be said right now. The nearly non-existent flutter of the sheer curtain falling against the window frame when a breeze comes in fills the empty spaces in the soundless room. Everything is hushed and still.

JD’s voice almost makes her jump when he speaks. “Have you ever thought about performing? I’m serious.”

Veronica shoves him in the side with her foot. “Shut up,” she laughs. “I only did this for you. Hope you enjoyed your bedtime story.”

He looks at her upside down again. “Read me another.”

“That was like, the fourth one in a row,” Veronica says. “Don’t you get tired of listening dark and mysterious yet profound poems?”

In one swift movement he turns over and pushes himself up so he’s hovering over her. “There’s quite a lot I don’t get tired of,” he smirks, and lowers himself down onto her. She gives him an unamused look but laughs before his mouth is attached to hers, his fingers automatically delving below the waistband of her underwear.

“I’ll read one to you in it’s original language,” she jokes, her voice breathy from JD’s touch. “I’ve taken mediocre high school French for years.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Impressive,” he says, and kisses her hard. Her Baudelaire is shoved out of her lap, the pages now bent and crinkled, and is replaced by JD. She reciprocates, her sighs drowning out the quietness.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem used is 'Hymn to Beauty' by Charles Baudelaire. I used William Aggeler's 1954 English translation. I didn't use all of the poem, obviously, only the lines I thought would work best. There were a lot of poems from The Flowers of Evil that I could have used for this, but I think this one fit the most. Also, I know poetry isn't cited like how I wrote it and you're supposed to use backslashes to separate verses and lines, but I wanted the lines to look like if someone were reading them aloud, hence the lack of backslashes. 
> 
> Link to the poem/translations: http://fleursdumal.org/poem/202


End file.
